Summit of all Joy
by JamesLuver
Summary: "Would you?" The words were whispered so quietly that it took a moment to register them. When he did, heat flooded his cheeks, and his pulse began a nervous throb in his throat. Anna's eyes were on him, wide and eager, penetrating through to his very soul."Of course," he croaked. "Anything for you."


**A/N:** For markcampbells, who prompted, #4 _"Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?"_ over on Tumblr.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

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 _Summit of all Joy_

The night had been a roaring success. Not only had the concert raised the soldiers' spirits, Mr. Matthew and William had returned home safe and sound after being feared dead. And, on top of all that, he was back at Downton, back by Anna's side, where he belonged.

John sighed, his breath misting slightly in the cooling air as he sat on his usual stack of crates just out of sight of the back door. The family had continued celebrating past their usual retiring time tonight, buoyed by the return of the heir, and downstairs had been no different. Only Daisy had seemed slightly wrong-footed by the unexpected arrival of her sweetheart. No one else seemed to notice her conflict, least of all William himself, but it was rather troubling all the same. John hoped that Daisy knew just what she had got herself into, though the sweet, innocent girl's naivety was well known to all the servants.

But it was nice that the revelling was dying down now. He had just seen Lord Grantham off to bed, his employer filled with wine and joy, which was a welcome change from the melancholic man John had known before he had been forced to leave Downton with Vera. It had taken him twice as long to undress him, for his lordship had wanted to chat non-stop about the events of the day. John wasn't particularly comfortable discussing his own situation even with everything that had come to pass, but he hadn't minded listening too much. It made a welcome change from the endless bad news he had been privy to over the last months.

He heard the back door open, then the light skip of footsteps that he would recognise anywhere. His day was about to end even more perfectly.

Anna appeared around the corner, flushed and bright-eyed. She'd had a glass of wine inside to celebrate William's return, and the fortified glow suited her rosy complexion. Wisps of hair had come loose from her tight bun. She looked beautiful squared against the glow of the moon.

"There you are," she said. "I've been looking all over for you. I thought you might have gone to bed."

"Without saying goodnight to you?" he replied. "Hardly. I've gone so many long months without your face being the last thing I see at night. That changes now."

She flushed a brighter red under his gaze. "Charmer." But she was pleased by his compliments, he could tell. And he recognised that a part of her needed them, needed to be reassured that he loved her and wanted her, that the more heart-breaking part of their life was over. Things might still be complicated, but that didn't mean that they couldn't enjoy what they already had. Time apart had only made her even more precious to him.

He made room for her on the crate beside him, and she threw herself down with a little huff of delight, her head falling back.

"What a night," she sighed. "I'm exhausted."

It had certainly been an exhausting night. A fantastic one, with his return to Downton and Mr. Matthew and William turning up safe, but an exhausting one all the same. He couldn't imagine how Anna was feeling; he had simply stood around opening doors while she had run herself ragged in an attempt to keep everyone happy and plied with drink.

"Why don't you turn in?" he suggested. "Get some sleep."

But she shook her head. "No. It's your first night back. I don't want to waste a single minute."

"I'll be right here in the morning," he reminded her gently. "I'm not going anywhere, not anymore."

"Five more minutes," she said, refusing to back down. John smiled despite himself, despite his self-reproach at being the one to put that fear in her heart, the fear that one day she would turn her back and he would disappear again. Every day from now, he promised himself, he would do whatever it took to rebuild her trust in him, to prove to her that he would weather any storm that Vera might brew.

"Five more minutes," he agreed, lifting his arm up so that she could settle against him. It wasn't strictly proper—Mrs. Hughes might turn a blind eye, knowing their troubles, but Mr. Carson would certainly find it scandalous—but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. It had been _so long_ since he'd last been able to hold her properly. For a brief time every two weeks hadn't been nearly enough.

"My feet are so sore," Anna sighed leaning her head back against John's shoulder. She nudged her heel against his calf. "And my neck is killing. All these years of service are finally catching up with me."

"Don't be silly," said John, trying not to concentrate too much on the feel of Anna's slim calf against his own.

"I mean it. Years ago I could go through the day without feeling a thing, but now my bones ache at the end of the day. My shoulders have never felt so tense."

She _did_ look as if she was in some discomfort, even with the happy smile on her face. John weighed up his options for a moment. He wanted to do something nice for her. He was always selfishly taking, never giving. He coughed to clear his throat; he had never felt as awkward and stupid as this in his whole life.

"Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?"

The words came out in a clumsy tangle, and he cursed them the moment they tumbled from his lips. Hearing them aloud only cemented what an utterly preposterous idea it was. But there was no way to take them back; he would have to endure the humiliation of the amused smile on her lips and the gentle laughter in her eyes.

"Would you?"

The words were whispered so quietly that it took a moment to register them. When he did, heat flooded his cheeks, and his pulse began a nervous throb in his throat. Anna's eyes were on him, wide and eager, penetrating through to his very soul.

"Of course," he croaked. "Anything for you."

She hummed, wriggling on the crate until her back fully faced him, hands clasped in her lap in front of her. "Thank you."

He couldn't answer her. Staring at her ramrod straight back, a product of so many years of standing to attention in a subservient pose, he wondered how best to tackle it. Even with Vera he had never done something as intimate as this, and he felt as lost as a lad undertaking his first experience of courting a woman. His hands shook as he lifted them to rest on her shoulders. For several heartbeats they rested there, unmoving. John closed his eyes to the simple pleasure of touching her in such an personal manner. He had held her shoulders before, of course, had stroked them just earlier on when they had embraced in the courtyard, but somehow this was different. That had been unconscious. This was very deliberate.

"Mr. Bates, are you going to start or not?"

The jovial tone of Anna's voice couldn't mask the slight tremor, the sound that alerted him to the fact that this was having just as much of an effect on her as it was on him. That made things worse. Knowing that she was holding her own breath in anticipation, perhaps biting her lip to contain her desire to have him touch her…

John turned his thoughts quickly away from that. It wouldn't do to lose control of himself out in the open. He could be stoic. A smooth, expressionless surface, cool as ice. Never mind that boiling lava bubbled just below the surface, threatening to melt through at any minute.

"I'm starting right now," he murmured, digging his thumbs experimentally into her shoulder blades.

Anna purred, instantly relaxing under his touch. He swallowed hard, moving his thumbs in slow circles around the points of tension. Like this, it was so easy to imagine them behind closed doors, the starched, impregnable material of her dress gone, his hands on her bare, silky skin.

"How's that?" he asked thickly.

"Mmm, feels good," was the somewhat dazed reply. "You're very good with your hands."

John froze, his temperature rocketing to a degree that most certainly wasn't good for his health. Clearing his throat and chaining up the ungentlemanly thoughts that had broken free at her words, he forced his hands to move again, anything to prove that he wouldn't allow the primitive side of him win victory.

"I try my best," he said, voice strained even to his own ears. "Is the pressure enough?"

"It's fine," she reassured him, her spine bowing just slightly, as if the cords holding the tension intact had snapped. He couldn't see her face, but he imagined her eyelids fluttering, expression open and serene. The blood thrummed in his head. He studied the delicate back of her neck, the wisps of blonde hair. Her skin was pink, from the cold or from his touch he couldn't say. He hoped it was the latter even if it would be better for him if it was the former. He continued to rub her shoulders, feeling the tension leech out with every press on her muscles. Before he knew it she was leaning back against him, thoroughly relaxed, his hands trapped on her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured. "That was wonderful."

"You're welcome." The words stuck in his throat, came out hoarse.

She turned her head. He admired her side profile in the half-light. She was beautiful, carved by angels. Their proximity was close. He could feel her warm breath against his chin as her eyes flickered up to meet his.

Against his better judgement he leaned over her shoulder and kissed her. She hummed in the back of her throat, a lazy arm hooking behind to caress the back of his own neck, setting him on fire and pulling him closer all in one go. She lingered, chaste, and his mind fuzzed at the little rush of air that escaped her lips when she pulled away. For a moment more they remained locked in that position, stone statues of Pompeii.

"We'd better go back inside before people miss us," she whispered at last.

"You're right," he agreed, but it was hard to let her slip out of his arms. Soon, he promised himself. Soon he wouldn't have to. Vera's hold on him was slipping, and he would be free for the beautiful woman standing in front of him. What a wonderful thought it was, to know their fight was almost over.

They walked hand in hand to the back door. Anna slipped loose. Back into the role of consummate professional. They kept a respectable amount of distance between them as they walked the corridor. The servants' hall was almost empty when they arrived.

Seeing this, John said, "I think I'll head on up now. It's been a long day."

"A wonderful day," she whispered, her eyes glowing. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to bend and kiss her again.

He bid her goodnight at the bottom of the staircase, cherishing the smile she gave him. Alone in his room, he allowed his mind to replay the evening, the imaginary feel of her skin still sparking against his fingertips.

Years in the future they would experience it again, in the privacy of their own home, the bed sheets rumpled around them, without the layers of clothes between them, Anna returning the favour with her strong, delicate hands on his broad shoulders, a kiss pressed to the side of his neck.

Now, he burned with want of her. Oh, how he burned.


End file.
